More Than Friendly Competition
by backinthebox
Summary: They've been swept up in the excitement of Quinn's Tony nomination that they have overlooked the possibility that Quinn might actually win.


Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or any of its characters; I'm borrowing them only for fun.

A/N: In most stories I've read Quinn has focused on film and TV, but then I thought, what if she took the risk and tried the stage? And was good at it? This is the result.

I apologize beforehand for any flaws in grammar or spelling (or readability). Please be kind.

Read. Enjoy. Review (if you wish to).

* * *

She's happy for Quinn.

No, really. She is. So happy.

She's thrilled, and beside herself in joy, and because she loves Quinn, she knows that Quinn's success is practically her own.

Really.

Rachel Berry doesn't need to fake her smile, because she truly is happy and proud of Quinn Fabray's achievement.

She just can't believe Quinn got a Tony before she did.

Yes, it's kind of both their faults, because they have been swept up in so much excitement this past year, and they both knew the play was excellent. Yes, they may have been distracted by the fact that Rachel's musical started _after_ Tony consideration, or more importantly by the realization that the brunette had been cast as Fanny Brice and therefore fulfilling one of her ultimate dream roles on Broadway, but they have _both_ somehow forgotten that there was a nomination for Best Performance by a Featured Actress _in a Play_.

Non-musical.

Sure, Rachel had gotten nominated first (two years ago, and for Leading Actress at that), and had an Emmy and a Grammy to her name and therefore halfway through her goal of achieving EGOT status, or that in their tally of awards, Rachel is slightly ahead (thanks to Rachel's musical career that Quinn opts not to have), but, really.

Quinn has a Tony.

They have been so distracted by Rachel's well-received performance in Funny Girl, and been swept up in the excitement of Quinn's nomination, that they have overlooked the possibility that Quinn might actually _win_.

It doesn't even hit her until Quinn announces, onstage, as part of her thank-you speech, that her "best friend Rachel" (because the rest of the world doesn't need to know what they are to each other yet) shares the ownership of the award, and tells everyone, by addressing Rachel, that the brunette's own win is just a matter of time.

Because Quinn got a Tony before she did.

And, yes, shared property and all that.

Still.

(Jesse will call her later to tell her that from his vantage point in front of his television, her smile legitimately froze at that point in the speech, and commends her show face. Antoinette Perry would be proud, he'll add. She will hang up on him.)

(She will also hang up on Kurt, Santana, other members of Glee Club, but that's not important.)

(Although she's sure they called her only because Quinn's phone blows up with so many calls and messages of congratulations from everyone else that Quinn actually turns it off.)

(She will be forced to entertain the calls from her dads, Judy, and Beth, but that's beside the point. And they don't know better, anyway.)

She can't even blame Quinn, or even resent her, because she'd been given the script first, but she hadn't been able to "connect" with the material, or with any of the characters. Quinn had been concentrating more on her writing, getting the odd acting job to keep her name in people's awareness, when Rachel gave her the script to read. Whereas it took Rachel seeing the first show to fully understand and "get" the material, Quinn had connected with it instantly, and the rest, as they say, is history.

And, yes, Quinn deserves the accolades, and the show is brilliant and deserves its nomination.

But still.

She feels like it's high school again, when she wanted a lot of things but has to watch everyone else — particularly the pretty and popular head cheerleader Quinn Fabray — get it, without even trying.

But it's _Quinn_, and she can't resent her for such an achievement, because Rachel Berry knows better than anybody just how hard Quinn has worked to even get here, what she's gone through and what she's sacrificed, and what this kind of recognition means to Quinn.

Quinn, who growing up had been told to be prettier, smarter, and thinner, to try harder, be better, be perfect. Quinn, who tried as hard as she could, and yet seemed to constantly fail in the eyes of those whose opinions mattered so much to her.

Quinn, who never believed that she was enough.

Quinn, who never accepted at face value that people could genuinely like her, who built up walls and strongholds of protection and defense to prevent people from seeing her weaknesses, to know who she really was beyond the icy veneer of her status as head cheerleader.

Quinn, who let very few people see any of her weaknesses; Who only let her guard down for one person, who allowed a single, solitary individual see the truth of who she is. Who let Rachel in, and unwittingly allow Rachel, time and time again, hurt her without knowing it, but let her faith in the smaller girl be her shining beacon of hope.

Quinn, who forced Rachel to accept that dreams could come true, but not free. Who had believed in Rachel and her dreams even before they had actually become friends.

Quinn, whose steadfast belief in Rachel and their dreams drove her to try harder, to be better, to strive for more. To dream bigger, to shine brighter, to hope that there was a world beyond their small town of Lima, Ohio.

Quinn, who didn't say a word when Rachel practiced day-in and day-out when it was announced there would be a revival of Funny Girl, and received countless noise complaints from the building administrator about various songs from the libretto being sung at six in the morning.

Quinn, who's still the prettiest girl Rachel has ever met, but also one of the best people Rachel has ever known, because even though she can be recalcitrant, strong-willed, antagonistic, borderline hostile, sometimes-mutinous, obstinate, and defiant, Quinn is still also all those things, _for_ Rachel. And she's also someone who's loyal, and comforting, and the steady, unyielding source of support Rachel needs. She can be kind, and sympathetic, and so beautifully flawed that Rachel still finds herself mesmerized by the fact that she is the one who gets to learn all about Quinn Fabray.

Quinn, who looks at Rachel like she's the owner of all the hope in the world. Who left Lima behind but proves that home is where the heart is, and as far as Quinn Fabray is concerned, home is a girl named Rachel Berry.

And, yes, Quinn is also the only person Rachel can imagine spending the rest of her life with, so it works out that she's willing to share that Tony until Rachel gets her own.

…And she _will_ get her own, because she knows that from this point forward, Quinn will do everything in her power to help Rachel get that much-coveted Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical Tony Award that Rachel has dreamt of since she was a mere toddler (and was mistakenly deprived of two years ago).

When Quinn gets back to her seat during a break in the ceremony, after the perfunctory speech onstage and press interview backstage, she clasps their hands together and smiles at the self-proclaimed diva. "Hi."

Rachel smiles back. "Hi."

Quinn hesitated, briefly, before making the soft inquiry of, "Mad at me?"

Rachel wants to be, so badly. Wants to be that brat of a high school girl she'd been, pouting and throwing grand storm-outs when she doesn't get her way. She wants to be pouty and angry and petulant that she has to wait a year to learn if she'll get another Tony nomination, that she'll have to look at the trophy case at home and see the Tony that isn't hers.

"No."

Quinn, to her credit, knows the brunette a little too well. "Is that the kind of no that's actually a yes?"

Rachel shook her head. "You've earned it, Quinn. I'm proud of you."

"But…?" Quinn prodded. And maybe the middle of the award ceremony is not the best place to have this conversation, but she knows Rachel, and getting the Tony before the brunette can lead to an explosion of angst-filled proportions, and Rachel means more to her than any award.

(A _Tony_, though. She knows how much the Tonys mean to Rachel, so she's kind of proud that she's earned something Rachel could be proud of.)

Ironic that there is the possibility that Quinn winning an award Rachel really wanted her to win (because Quinn deserved it, in Rachel's totally unbiased opinion) is going to be one of the major points of discontent in their relationship.

Rachel pouted, one of her exaggerated I'm-kind-of-annoyed-but-not-really-I-just-want-you-to-make-it-up-to-me pouts, and Quinn instantly relaxes. "I wanted a Tony."

Quinn tries — very hard — not to laugh. "Everyone in here wants one, too." She paused, and then nodded to an obvious seat-filler nearby. "Well, not that guy, because he looks even more bored than you at a football game in high school."

"Your attempt at distracting me won't work, Quinn Fabray."

"I have other methods of distracting you, Rachel Berry." Quinn smirked. "Do you want me to demonstrate in front of our peers and a national-viewing audience?"

"Quinn!"

"So answer me, whether or not you're mad that I won."

Because, damn it, really? They've had months to talk about it, and Rachel had been supportive and obsessive, and, yes, she suspects that Rachel lobbied harder for her to win than anyone in her PR or management team. And suddenly, she wins and Rachel's all prissy about it?

_Really?_

Rachel sighed. "No."

"Really?"

Rachel nodded. "I just… There's a Tony. And it's not mine."

Quinn gave her a faint smile. "How much better will you feel if I said you'll get one someday?"

"A little."

"Because it's inevitable for you to win one?"

"Better."

Quinn paused, and then grinned. "Jesse doesn't even have a Drama Desk nomination yet."

Rachel took that in, letting it sink in for a moment, before she grinned back. "That's true."

"And, you know, with that little ceremony we had a few years ago, technically we share everything, so…"

"Nobody counts community property when chronicling EGOT winners, Quinn."

"And because none of the places where we're registered is a community property state," Quinn pointed out.

Leaning closer to the blonde, Rachel smiled softly at her. "I really _am_ proud of you, Quinn."

Quinn smiled back. "I really, really want to give our PR teams two aneurysms each right now."

"Mmm. I know," Rachel agreed, their lips now too close to be merely friendly, but not close enough to be mistaken for anything more intimate. "Maybe later."

"So I'm not going to have to grovel to make it up to you?" Quinn queried.

Rachel laughed softly. "No, you're pretty good right now."

"Yeah?"

Rachel nodded, leaning back as the continuation of the program was announced. "It's not everyday a girl from Lima, Ohio can say they're married to a Tony winner, Quinn."

"I've been married to an Emmy and Grammy winner for some time now, so…"

Rachel grinned. "But the Tonys are special."

Quinn rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I'm never going to win this, am I?"

"You just got your Tony before I did, Quinn. That earns me I think at least the next, oh, maybe two dozen disagreements?"

Quinn scoffed. "Even with your bogus accounting, I'll still be ahead, Berry."

Rachel, who was facing the stage, quirked an eyebrow. "That's Berry-Fabray, _Quinn_, and you don't play fair: one is hardly able to argue effectively when you…"

"Use logic?" Quinn finished for her.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Shush, now."

Quinn's smirk deepened, and laughed. "Whatever, Fabray-Berry, but I'll remind you of this when you win your Tony."

Rachel turned to grin at her, ignoring the presenters onstage. "Congratulations, Quinn."

Quinn smiled back. "So we're happy about this?"

"Of course."

Yes, Quinn might be the one bringing home a Tony tonight.

But Rachel was going home with Quinn.

She's learned to appreciate — sometime during those few weeks their senior year in high school when nothing about either Quinn's future, or even her prognosis, was certain — the more important things in life.


End file.
